A Measure of Salvation
by Floralia
Summary: When an angelic weapon shows up unexpectedly on a hunt, Dean should know better than to think they could catch a break. Takes place after 6.12
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **A Measure of Salvation

**Summary: **When an angelic weapon shows up unexpectedly on a hunt, Dean should know better than to think they could catch a break. Takes place after 6.12

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Supernatural. The title comes from the episode of BSG that spawned the idea for this (I own nothing of that show, either)

**A/N: **Thanks to Sendintheclowns and Gidgetgal9 for the beta.

**Part One**

This long on the job, if there was one thing Dean was sure of it was that he didn't like surprises.

"Where the hell is everybody?" he murmured. The look Sam flashed his way was equally as confused.

He wasn't sure whether that was a comfort.

Sam signalled wordlessly, waiting for Dean's nod before he broke off to the right, sharing one last frown before disappearing into the gloom.

Dean raised his gun in front of him and pushed forward, spine tingling now his brother was out of sight, unable to shake the feeling of _wrong _that was causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. He could barely see anything in the dim light of the warehouse and he was tempted to flick on his flashlight, even if that would lose them the element of surprise.

According to Bobby's Intel the building should have been swarming with demons, but the only hint of movement his ears could detect came from Sam, mirroring his careful progress across the warehouse floor. Dean knew that things had been tense at Singer Salvage since they'd returned his brother's soul, but surely even Bobby's level of unease wouldn't have sent them on a wild goose chase just for the excuse to get Sam out of the house.

He turned as he moved, gun trained on every shadow. He could see farther now his eyes were adjusting to the dark. High windows to his left let shafts of moonlight pool in the centre of the room, leaving the edges in darkness.

It did nothing to quell his unease. Things had felt off from the moment they'd set foot in here. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what the problem was, besides their lack of prey, but he'd been hunting long enough to know it wasn't wise to ignore his instincts. Not when they were screaming this loudly.

Deserted or not it was time to get out, and get out now.

He turned to signal to Sam that it was past time to make a hasty retreat but his brother was still swallowed up by the gloom. Dean strained, but he could no longer hear Sam's careful footsteps.

His disquiet ratcheted up a couple of notches.

Abandoning his side of the building, Dean cut across to the right to pick up his brother's trail.

Something moved in the darkness, something low and scraping and definitely not his brother. Dean paused, toying with the idea of turning on his flashlight, not wanting to make himself a target for whatever was lurking out of sight.

He pressed onward. It was another tense minute before Dean finally caught sight of his brother's back. Sam was facing away from him, no longer searching the room. Instead, he was frozen on the spot, gaze fixed on the ground a little way in front of him. Dean could tell by the tense set of Sam's shoulders that his brother didn't much like what he could see.

As though sensing Dean's attention, Sam turned to look over his shoulder. It was too dark to see his exact expression but the tilt of his head was quizzical, and when Sam faced forward again Dean could see him tighten his grip on the demon killing knife in his hand, raising it in front of him.

Without a word, Sam continued his progress across the room, away from Dean.

With a curse, Dean shifted his grip on his own weapon and followed. There was a maze of crates littering the warehouse floor and a row of them was now between Dean and his brother, blocking his view of whatever Sam had been looking at. Sam was only visible from the waist up but his attention was focused downward, his movements uneven but cautious - as though he was stepping over something on the floor.

Dean didn't relax when he reached the end of the row of boxes separating him from his brother. Sticking out from behind the last crate, was a leg.

Dean rounded the corner to find a man in his late forties, sprawled on his back. His right leg was twitching and there was bloody foam covering his mouth and chin. His face was locked in an expression of agonising fear, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Beyond this first body was another.

"What the hell...?" Dean murmured.

He took another step forward and the stench of sickness hit him, so bad he had to bring one hand to his face to cover his mouth and nose. He flinched, forcing himself to continue.

Wherever he looked he could see another downed form, their skin green and clammy, hair matted with sweat.

They were dead. All of them. And they had suffered before they'd died.

When Dean looked up his brother was nowhere in sight.

"Sam!" Dean's voice echoed loudly in the gloom but he was no-longer concerned with maintaining the element of surprise. That had been lost a long time ago.

"Over here."

Sam's voice drifted from behind a nearby crate. He skirted it to find Sam crouched at the side of a young blond woman; Dean recognised her from the surveillance footage they'd been scanning earlier that day. Sam's brow was furrowed - Dean couldn't tell if the expression stemmed from concern or pity - and his fingers were resting on the pulse point at her neck.

"Careful," Dean warned.

"She's dead," Sam told him, leaning back on his heels and turning to face him. Dean could see the level of unease in Sam's eyes for the first time, and it chilled him. "They're all dead."

Sam turned back and lowered one hand, gently closing the dead woman's eyes.

Her hand shot out and grabbed Sam by the wrist, startling him so much he let out a bark of surprise. The blond woman's eyes had flicked open, and while she had one hand clamped around Sam's the other was clawing at his shoulder, trying to draw him nearer.

"Son of a…" Dean quickly closed the distance between them and raised his gun. Sam held the knife loosely in his free hand but seemed to be making no effort to use it.

"The hosts might be dead, but the demons sure as hell aren't," Dean told him. Now he'd realised it he could hear them, groans and gasps and gurgling breaths all around him. The dull dragging sound, and the slow scrape of flesh along concrete.

They weren't dead, but they were clearly dying.

"Help us." The voice was hoarse and she winced as though she'd swallowed glass. Blood bubbled and popped on her lips. "Please, help us."

"Sam…" Dean warned.

"I know," Sam agreed, low and pained. "Give us a minute."

"What...?" Dean let out an exasperated hiss as Sam leaned closer.

"What happened here?" he asked gently, using the hand she's pulled close to tilt her chin in his direction, forcing her focus on him. "What made you so sick?"

"She's a demon, Sam. She's not going to…"

"They found it…" she whispered, breaking off to cough. Sam winced as bloody phlegm splattered onto his sleeve. "It was an accident really. A little death, a little mayhem – that's the only reason we were here. The apocalypse is over; the angels are too busy cleaning up their own mess to care what we do.

"It was just waiting for them in the Seminary. The priest was already dead. They figured Belial had got bored and started the party without them - not that he was inside the body when it…"

She broke off and turned her face away, coughing brokenly. Sam spared him a brief glance of consternation. They'd been in town nearly two days but nothing had been flagged about any Seminary in their research.

When the demon turned back to fix her gaze on Sam there was blood on her teeth and lips. Her grip on Sam's wrist tightened. Dean could see Sam's jaw clench but his brother made no effort to pull away.

Dean swore.

"Its power was…" she sighed in awe. "Oh, you could feel the hum of it. Of _course_ they took it. Without question… brought it here. We didn't know what we had. We knew it was old, was important, but we didn't… not until they started to die."

"What..?" Sam cleared his throat and leaned in closer. "What did they take?"

She looked away from them, reaching with her free hand to something neither of them could see.

"Glowing… it was so beautiful."

The hairs tingled on the back of Dean's neck. He rose and took a step in the direction of the demon's gaze, eyes searching, but could see no glow other than the moonlight.

"But the power… it was wrong. It changed them."

Dean squared his shoulders and raised his gun, throwing Sam a look that told him sternly to hurry it up, before turning his back on the pair, guarding against any further movement in the dark.

"The headaches and the chills… we mistook them for the host's reaction to possession. By the time the bleeding started it was already too late…"

Dean refused to turn as she groaned and gagged behind him.

"We're demons. It shouldn't be possible, but it killed them from the inside out. They couldn't flee their hosts. The five that returned with the device – they were all dead within a matter of hours. By then it was too late for us. It had already started." She coughed again, wheezing and choking on her own breath.

"Okay," Sam murmured. Dean could hear his brother shifting position, her groan of loss as Sam leaned away. He swallowed and stepped backwards. Sam was whispering to her – demon or host he didn't know but either way he didn't want to listen. His brother had a soul now, Dean was a coward for walking away but he knew what was coming and didn't want to see the look on his brother's face when it did. The cold mask Sam had worn for the past six months had been chilling, but he couldn't help but feel the expression he was sporting now would be so much worse.

He only had to move a few feet away before he saw it. It had been placed on top of a crate, given prime position in the centre of a small clearing in the supply area, metal glinting in the moonlight.

"Dean…" Sam's voice floated across the distance, tone wary.

Dean ignored him and kept moving, pausing a couple of feet away from the artefact. It was small, almost disappointingly unimpressive, narrow and cylindrical within an intricate cage. It had a tripod base. Every inch of its surface was carved with markings. Whatever power it might have, Dean couldn't feel it.

He took a hesitant step backwards. Maybe that was a good thing.

A flash of light illuminated its surface momentarily; the accompanying crackle of energy told him his brother had finally put the demon out of its misery.

It was a few more seconds before Dean could hear his brother's footsteps. Sam paused behind his right shoulder. Dean gave him a moment to take the sight in.

"Is that..?"

"Enochian? Yeah," Dean confirmed as Sam reached his side.

"But what..?"

"I think I know how we find out," Dean muttered grimly. "Cas, get your feathery ass down here."

Nothing.

"I think we found one of heaven's missing nukes," he continued coaxingly. "And I think it went off," he added under his breath.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam asked him. "We don't know what it is, just that it's killed everyone who's come into contact with it, so…"

There was a flutter of wind behind them and they turned to find Castiel striding towards them out of the darkness. The angel stopped when he took in the bodies of the demons surrounding them, then his eyes locked with the metallic device at the centre of the casualties.

"Ah," he uttered. His face was expressionless, but that didn't hide his surprise.

"That good, huh?" Sam asked him.

"This can't…" Castiel moved forward cautiously and bent at the waist to examine the object on its plinth, his face grim. "I was assured that this didn't exist."

"I think someone lied to you," Dean pointed out the obvious.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"A weapon."

"We gathered that much, genius," Dean muttered.

"The demon said they started getting sick within hours of finding this thing. We're probably already exposed." Dean's little brother, ever the optimist. "Are we in danger from it too?"

"No," Castiel replied, not wholly convincing enough for Dean's liking. Castiel glanced at Sam as though trying to decide something. "At least… No."

Sam looked away.

"Want to try that again to be a little _less_ reassuring," Dean asked, pulse quickening.

"This weapon… from what I can feel, it's designed to give off a very specific pulse. It only affects energy on a particular frequency."

"Demons," Sam supplied.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

Sam flinched.

"A biological weapon?" Dean would have had a hard time getting his head around it if not for the bodies surrounding them.

"But it shouldn't be possible," Castiel continued. "The power to do this, it simply doesn't exist."

"It does now," Dean pointed out.

"I can take it from here." Castiel turned his back on them to focus his attention on the device, holding his hands out towards it as though he was trying to warm his palms on its surface. Reading its energies, Dean guessed. "You can leave the bodies too," the angel continued when they'd made no effort to move. "They will be taken care of."

"Cas..?" Sam took a step forward, eyes wide.

"I need to think." Castiel turned back to face them; voice surprisingly earnest, expression gentle. "I'll bring you answers, Sam. I promise. But it would be better if you were not around while I'm seeking them."

Sam nodded hesitantly but Dean wasn't nearly satisfied. Before he had time to voice his dissatisfaction, the angel and the warhead were gone.

"What do you think that was about?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, but I suggest we do as he says and get the hell out of here." Sam's face was grim, the set of his jaw tense. Dean got the distinct impression he was missing something.

"What..?"

Sam had already turned away from him and was striding towards the exit, giving the bodies around him a wide berth, sidestepping a reaching hand.

"Cas can clean up here a lot more easily, and a lot more effectively, than we can. We're going to have a hard time explaining this to the night-watchman if he's conscientious enough to check back here in the meantime," Sam called out as he walked. "And I, for one, wouldn't mind some fresh air. And a shower," he added with a wince. Dean could see him tugging the bile-stained shirt away from his skin, face scrunched up in disgust.

"I hear you," Dean shuddered. "But is that all this is?"

"All what is?" Sam turned, perplexed.

"Your speed to get out of here. You sure there isn't something else? You sure you've never seen something like this before?"

"You know I haven't," Sam frowned.

"Do I? None of this is ringing a bell somewhere in that head of yours?" The look he'd shared with Castiel had meant something. "Because if it is, you can just… un-ring it."

"You're asking me to remember whether or not I remember something, so I can be sure to remind myself to un-remember it?" Sam asked, a smile pulling at his lips. "I'd tell you, I promise," Sam continued, expression turning serious.

Dean nodded, trying to accept Sam's reassurance. Leaving a scene full of bodies behind wasn't ideal but they had to trust that Castiel knew what he was dealing with. Disposing of that many bodies would have been a major undertaking, one he wasn't sorry to delegate.

"You think maybe we dodged a bomb on this one?" Dean voiced as they headed back to the car.

Sam scrunched his face up in confusion.

"A whole nest of demons and all of them are dead?" Dean clarified. "Seems like someone did us a favour if you ask me."

"Yeah, well… Cas didn't exactly look ready to start handing out gift baskets to whoever put this thing together. In fact, he looked pretty concerned."

"Cas always looks that way."

"Yeah, but, more worried than usual."

"Something specifically designed to target demons? Not really seeing a downside, that's all I'm saying," Dean shrugged. "Could make our lives a whole lot easier."

"Maybe…" Sam relented with a sigh. He looked thoroughly miserable, tired and dirty, and Dean grinned.

"What?" Sam scowled, which just caused Dean to grin even harder. The Sam from a couple of weeks ago would have killed to get his hands on a weapon like that. To see his brother showing compassion and concern, no matter how messed up the situation… Dean wasn't going to be letting go of the joy in that simple action any time soon.

The mixture of exasperation, amusement and suspicion that was crossing Sam's face was one familiar to older brother's everywhere, and Dean was fairly certain was only possible with a soul.

Dean waited until Sam was in the shower before calling Bobby to tell him someone had beaten them to the kill. It was easier to hear the other man enquire whether Sam was a drooling mess yet, or slipping poison into Dean's morning coffee, without his brother in the room.

"You up for pizza?" he asked as Sam re-entered the room.

Sam scrunched up his nose in disgust. "After tonight? I don't think I'll ever be hungry again, but thanks."

"Wuss," Dean grinned, shaking his head. "Fine, I guess that means there'll be more for me then."

Sam tugged on some sweat pants then sat on his bed, towelling dry his hair, while Dean phoned in his order. When he hung up the phone, Sam was sitting with his head bowed, towel a crumpled heap at his feet, damp hair sticking up in all directions.

"You okay?" he asked, not liking the way Sam was staring at the floor.

No answer.

"Sam." Dean swatted him on the arm as he passed, causing his brother to jump. "What's gotten into you?"

"What? Nothing," Sam shook his head as though trying to clear it and Dean couldn't help the reflective flicker of worry. The scene at the warehouse had been pretty nasty, even by their standards, and Sam hadn't faced anything like that with a soul for a while now, but his head was not somewhere Dean felt comfortable letting him retreat to. Not with all the crazy that was locked up in there.

"They were demons Sam, and Bobby had been tracking the omens for a while. The hosts were probably all dead before… you know?" he offered.

"Yeah, I guess." Sam sighed, snatching up the towel and rising to his feet. He tossed the wet towel through the bathroom door as he passed and Dean rolled his eyes, knowing he'd have to pick it up and move it out of the way before taking his own shower.

"You cold?" Dean asked, watching as Sam pulled a hoody from his bag. "Dude, it's like a friggin furnace in here." Sam just shrugged again and finished dressing. Dean shook his head but decided to drop it for now. His brother liked layers, liked hiding behind them when he was down, and Dean wouldn't take that away from him now. Not something that was so Sam it almost hurt.

"I spoke to Bobby," he said instead.

"Oh yeah," Sam was perched back on the edge of his bed again. "I'm guessing he was just as surprised by this as we were."

"You got that right. And he's just as much of a killjoy as you are," Dean continued, grinning to himself when Sam rolled his eyes. "Seems to think something with that amount of power turning up unexpectedly, even in the hands of the angels – or perhaps especially in the hands of the angels, given the state of heaven right now – is unlikely to be a good thing."

"Great," Sam muttered.

"Yeah. Oh – but he did say the situation sounded familiar somehow, like maybe he'd read an account of it somewhere before. He's looking into it."

"Maybe we should head back, give him a hand," Sam suggested.

Dean hesitated. "I don't think… I'm sure he's got it covered."

"Oh… yeah," Sam's shoulders visibly slumped and he went back to the long distance staring, at the wall this time, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Sam, come on, man," Dean offered quietly. "It's not like that."

"No, it's okay – I get it. I do. After what I did, I wouldn't want me around either, so…"

"Hey. None of that was you and Bobby knows that. Just give him some time; he'll come around, okay?"

Sam remained silent.

"Okay?" Dean pressed a little more forcefully.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam relented, but he didn't look convinced.

Dean would have pressed the issue further, but he couldn't face the inevitable argument that would follow over who, or what, was responsible for Sam's actions while his soul has still been trapped in the cage. Also, the scent of grime and sickness from his clothing was starting to get to him.

He turned his nose up in disgust. "I have to shower. Try not to eat my pizza if I'm not out by the time it gets here."

"I'll do my best," Sam promised dryly and Dean smiled at his tone, reassured enough to leave Sam alone for a few minutes with his thoughts.

Dean needn't have worried about Sam honing in on his supper. He'd barely opened the box when the aroma had Sam pulling a face and retreating to the other side of the room. Dean just shrugged and purposefully took an extra large bite that made his brother issue a little snort of disgust and turn away.

The room fell silent as Dean concentrated on his food and Sam settled on his bed across the room, sorting through the piles of articles and print outs they'd compiled over the past few days. Dean knew he was working through them to see what could be thrown away, if any pieces of intel should be saved, or if there were any loose ends they might need to follow up on. Given that the demon's main source of fun, and the place they'd discovered the angelic weapon, was still un-investigated it was possible they weren't as finished here as they'd like.

Although if Castiel's demeanour tonight was anything to go by, the angel would probably be more than willing to pick up their loose ends unaided.

Dean was content to leave Sam to it for now. He knew this Sam, the one who was trying to distract himself by keeping his mind busy, recognised him and knew exactly how to deal with him, trusted that he would share what he was thinking in time.

Dean was reaching for his forth slice of pizza when the industrious movement from the other side of the room stilled.

"What?" Dean was distracted enough to look up. "We miss something?"

"No… I just…"

One look at the blood dripping from his brother's face and Dean nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get off his bed. He stumbled as he grabbed at some tissues on the nightstand, not liking the way Sam was watching him with a strangely wistful smile.

"Thanks," Sam whispered, clearing his throat as he raised the offered tissues to his nose.

"Put your head down," Dean instructed, perching beside Sam on the bed, one palm flat on his brother's back, the other hand hovering in front of Sam's face.

"I know, I'm okay," Sam mumbled through the hand clamped against his face.

"Sure you are," Dean agreed, trying to block all of Bobby's warnings and dire predictions from his mind. It was a nosebleed, nothing more. Not a sign that there was anything deeply wrong in his brother's brain. Not proof that Hell was quite literally busting through the seams.

"You said you weren't remembering anything," he chided softly. Sam had been quiet since the warehouse. Dean had thought he'd merely been troubled by what they'd seen, not that he'd been sat in silence picking at the damn in his brain for the past three hours, until it had quite literally started to leak.

"You promised you weren't going to do this."

"I haven't."

"I know it's hard, but you have to let it go."

"It's not the wall," Sam issued gently. "It's not Hell. Well…" he shrugged and leaned further forward, avoiding Dean's eye. The hand holding the tissues to Sam's face was shaking slightly even though he was now bracing it on his knees, and Dean could feel the tremors through his back.

"Then what?"

"Dean…?" Sam's voice was thoroughly miserable, as though pained Dean had had to ask; would make him say it out loud.

"Sam – I don't…"

_The headaches and the chills… we mistook them for the host's reaction to possession. By the time the bleeding started it was already too late._

Jerking his hand away from his brother's shoulder was purely reflex, but he could feel Sam tense and draw away as he did so, mouth grim.

"Don't worry, you wont catch it," Sam said coldly, lowering his hands to his lap.

"That wasn't…" Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, mentally willing himself to stay calm.

"You shouldn't have caught it either," he pointed out, resting his hand on top of Sam's, the one curled in his lap and still clutching the bloodstained tissue.

"Don't," Sam tried to move his hand away but Dean only tightened his grip.

"Sam?"

Sam looked away, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Cas said this thing was tuned in on demon DNA," Dean said. "Last time I checked you…"

"Demon blood," Sam mumbled, then cleared his throat. "I have demon blood in me. I guess that counts…" he trailed off with a shrug.

Dean went cold. "You don't get to do that," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't get to just shrug as though that's it, as though…"

"Well what the hell do you want me to do?" Sam raised his voice at last.

"Anything! Something. Not just give up. There has to be a cure for this thing. There had to be something we can…"

Sam raised his free hand to his mouth and laughed, a slight tint of hysteria colouring his voice, and broke off in a sob that had Dean pulling him closer. Sam didn't resist.

"You knew," Dean accused softly into the back of Sam's neck. "Back at the warehouse, as soon as he said it, you and Cas, you knew."

"I didn't know for sure," Sam sounded congested and impossibly young. "Not until now."

"Why the hell didn't you _say_ something?"

Sam shrugged again, pulling away from Dean and clambering off the bed. "It's not like there's anything you could have done."

Dean leaned back, feeling as though he'd been struck. Sam would rather sit and worry in silence, confronted by the possibility of his own gruesome death, than share that burden with his brother. He knew Sam had gotten used to having to rely on himself but he'd thought they were past that now, that Dean's presence could at least offer something.

Sam deflated and looked apologetic. "That's not what I meant," he said gently, as though reading Dean's thoughts. "I just… there was no use you worrying too. Not when it could have been for nothing."

"Well that's where you're an idiot. Next time you tell me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Sam whispered, but at least he was smiling now, even if there was a slightly pitying edge to it.

"Where the hell is Cas," Dean ground out, rising to his feet. "He needs to…"

"He's looking into it; we should leave him be. If he's going to get answers, he needs to be given time to get them. He'll come as soon as he has something to tell us."

"We should at least tell him you're showing symptoms, hurry him along."

"He knows."

"How could he..?"

"Never underestimate the power of prayer." Sam smiled ruefully. "Besides, the way you're yelling he's probably guessed. We don't know where he is or where he's going to have to go for answers, we're probably better off not getting in his way. Let's just wait and see what he comes up with."

It made sense, but sitting back and waiting while Sam's life was at stake had never been something he was any good at.

"There has to be something we can do," Dean protested. He wrestled the laptop out of its case and flicked it on, tossing it on his bed while he waited for it to warm up. Sam was still standing at the far side of his bed watching him, arm curled protectively across his middle.

"Bobby said he'd heard about this weapon thing before," Dean pressed. "If there's something out there that can help, we'll find it."

Sam nodded and took a breath. "Okay," he agreed, striding around the bed to pick up the discarded laptop. Dean let him take it – Sam had always been better at web searches, better at pulling up something from nothing than he had, and Dean guessed he could use the distraction. At least there was some sign of Sam's usual stubbornness back in the set of his shoulders, the light of determination back on his face.

They'd been away from the warehouse for a couple of hours; Sam's symptoms didn't seem to be moving as quickly as the demon bitch had indicated. Nosebleeds he could handle; maybe they would get lucky and the vomiting and haemorrhaging would pass them by.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Sam asked, pointing to the half eaten pizza on Dean's bed. "The smell's kinda making me nauseas."

-0-

Sam lay back on the bed, trying to will the pounding in his head down to more manageable levels. The laptop was closed and abandoned at his side, anything to block out the light. The glare of the screen made his eyes ache and he couldn't decide what was making him feel more ill, the computer or the accounts he was reading of demon plagues that caused people's blood to boil or liquefied their insides.

Dean was outside getting some air. Sam knew he was on the phone to Bobby – he could hear the dull murmur of desperation in his voice and watched his shadow passing the window as Dean paced.

Sam curled miserably, hit by a coughing spasm that didn't seem to want to stop. There were tears in his eyes, pain in his chest and throat before he finally felt able to uncurl, wiping the blood from his lips with a shaking hand.

This wasn't fair.

He'd gone to Hell in the hope of redemption and his body had been topside doing who knew what the whole time. But he had a chance now to make that right – to at least try.

He'd barely had his soul back for a week, and it was over.

The door opened and Dean slipped back into the room, his eyes immediately seeking out Sam's. He didn't need to say anything for Sam to know exactly what he was thinking. Dean had given up his family and his normal for Sam, had gotten him out of Hell only to have to sit and watch him die.

"Bobby's on his way over now. He should be here in a couple of hours," Dean told him quietly. Sam took a shaky breath and nodded. Dean didn't need to say it. Bobby wouldn't give up the hours it would take to get here, away from his research, if he believed there was anything to find.

"What about Bobby's lead?" he asked anyway. "That a bust?"

Dean looked away. "He said he found a couple of references in some of his more obscure texts about attempts to make poisons or viruses to kill demons, and they quote a lot of rumours, but he tends to agree with Cas. The general consensus is, it isn't possible. Whatever it was, it doesn't exist..." Dean continued, still avoiding eye contact.

"Which means no one's ever recorded a cure," Sam finished for him. "Doesn't mean there isn't one," he offered. Although the odds of them finding it in time were slim.

He could tell by the look on Dean's face that his brother was thinking the same thing.

Sam pushed the laptop aside and swung his legs onto the floor. He'd only half raised from the bed before Dean was hovering at his side.

"Where the hell are you going? You should rest."

Sam swallowed against the nausea, and the light of panic in Dean's eyes, and pointed one shaking finger at the bathroom door in answer.

"Oh." Dean took a step back but remained within reaching distance. "You need a hand? You gonna hurl?"

"Not unless you keep talking about it," Sam warned and took a hesitant step away from the bed. "I'm good," he said, unable to keep the surprise out of his own voice as his legs continued to support him. "Thanks."

Dean nodded but didn't move away, rocking from one foot to the other as though totally unsure what to do with himself.

"I'm not a demon," Sam told him, needing to do something to erase the lost look from his brother's face. "I know it's in me, but that isn't who I am. What I am. Not any more."

"I know," Dean nodded, and for maybe the first time Sam believed him.

Dean had called him a lot of things in the past and he knew the demon blood, the powers, were things it was hard for Dean to see past. Sam had wanted for so long for Dean to be able to look at him and see his brother, not just the damage and the obligation. Maybe Sam had had to go to Hell for them to get there, but he knew in that second that it had been worth it. Even if a week was all the time they got, Dean was no longer looking at him as though he was waiting to be disappointed again. It made Sam feel as though he could breathe for the first time in a long time, and it was worth it.

But not for Dean. Sam knew from experience how hard it was to be the one left behind. Dean had only just got him back.

"This thing, whatever it was," Sam continued. "It was designed to kill demons. And since I'm not one, we don't really know what it's going to do to me."

"That's not really comforting, Sam."

"What I mean is… we don't know how this is going to play out. I'm not affected by salt or holy water or anything else that's designed to work against demons. I might still have the blood in me but I'm not _actually_ a demon. We don't _know_ it's going to kill me. My symptoms are milder than what we saw; you know you've been thinking it yourself. Maybe it's slower because it isn't going to affect me as badly."

Or maybe it would just take him longer to die.

"I don't want to always assume the worst, Dean. I can't be constantly on edge. So can we, I don't know… unclench a little."

Dean stopped fidgeting and stood a little taller.

"Okay then," Sam nodded. "I still gotta…" he tilted his head at the bathroom door but waited for Dean's nod of acknowledgement before he left the room. He wasn't stupid enough to think his words would have done anything to make Dean feel better, not really, but he would take even Dean's forced calm over watching his brother unravel.

Sam made the mistake of glancing up while washing his hands; he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and flinched. His eyes were bloodshot, skin pale and chalky. He couldn't smooth the wrinkled of pain from his forehead even though he tried.

The bathroom light was making his head pound, and he couldn't seem to stop shaking.

He turned off the tap and lowered his head, breathing deep while he steadied himself against the sink.

His breath caught and the bout of coughing took him by surprise, grating and fierce, echoing through the tiny room. He bent double, resting his arms on the counter while he rode it out, vaguely aware of his brother's voice in the background and the rattling of the bathroom door. By the time the spasm had passed he was panting and exhausted.

Sam lifted his head with a groan, then leaned to the side to flick back the lock. By the time Dean had recognised the sound and pushed the door open, Sam was upright once more and had wiped the tears from his face. Dean's jaw tightened as he took in the blood flecked sink but his face softened when he looked at Sam.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," was all he said, placing one hand on the flat of Sam's back, the other gripping his elbow as he guided Sam gently out of the room. Sam couldn't stop shaking, had been afraid that if he let go of the sink his legs would refuse to hold him, and he sniffled in gratitude.

He sighed with relief when they made it back to the bed. Dean tossed aside the laptop and turned down the covers and Sam didn't have the energy or inclination to protest, just sank into the mattress as Dean fussed with his blanket and pillows, propping him upright just enough so that he could rest without struggling to breathe.

"Thanks," Sam whispered again when he was settled, earning him a tight nod. His eyes tracked Dean's movements back to the bathroom door and remind there after his brother had disappeared inside.

The tap was running for several minutes but when Dean emerged, red eyed and with a damp shirt, he was carrying only one glass of water.

"Works better if you close your eyes," Dean told him, placing the glass on the nightstand.

"What does?"

"Rest, sleep..."

"I don't want to sleep."

If possible, the expression Dean threw him was even more pained.

Maybe it would be easier if he did, but he felt as though he'd slept away enough of the last year. There was so much he'd already missed. Even if this _was_ going to be the end, he didn't want to lose more of himself.

He couldn't tell whether or not his brother got it. Whether it would be easier on Dean in the long run if Sam did what he asked – would sleeping now be robbing his brother of time, or making it easier for him to bear what they had left?

He sank back into the pillow. His heart was pounding as though he'd been running – either the brief walk from the bathroom had left him more exhausted than he'd realised, or his fear was starting to get the better of him.

Stepping into Hell had been one thing, the most difficult and most important thing he'd ever do, but beneath the gut wrenching terror there had been a sense of purpose that somehow made it easier to throw himself into the unknown.

This was such a pointless way to die. Pain and suffering and indignity; and a big glaring question mark over what came next. Now was not the time to mention it to Dean, but he somehow didn't think being Lucifer's vessel would have earned him a place in heaven.

He felt a stab of nausea so painful he closed his eyes, willing his stomach to settle. He rolled onto his side, biting his lip to keep in a moan, flinching in surprise when something damp and cool settled on his forehead.

He opened one eye to see Dean's worried face, the instant before his brother smiled and lowered his mask back into place. Dean had pulled up a chair beside his bed. He was leaning forward in it now, one hand pressing the damp wash cloth against Sam's brow, fingers absently rubbing circled through his hair. He doubted Dean was even aware he was doing it, but it was bliss against his aching head.

He hummed his thanks and closed his eyes again. Moisture tickled his cheek; whether it was a tear or a stray drip from the cloth he didn't know. He didn't want to open his eyes and find out.

Bobby might have had no luck with the book research, but Sam still had sites he'd bookmarked, accounts he hadn't looked through, searches he hadn't tried. He had to believe that Castiel would find something, would be here soon to bring them news.

He had to get up. He had to open his eyes and get off his ass and he had to prove to his brother that he wasn't going to be defeated. Wasn't going to let _either_ of them be defeated. Wasn't going to let the curse in his veins rob them of anything more.

But before he did any of that, he just had to take a minute to breathe. It wasn't giving up, it was re-grouping. He was just going to stay here until the pain killers kicked in and he could open his eyes without screaming. He was still in the game, and he was going to prove that. Any, minute, n…

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Sam had only just settled into sleep when there was a knock on the motel door that had him twitching back to consciousness.

"Shhh, 's okay." Dean rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping to lull him back to sleep, but when the knock came again Sam groaned and opened his eyes.

"'s 'at Bobby?" he muttered, struggling to rise even as Dean was pressing him back into the bed.

"Not yet." He'd sensed Bobby was worried, but not even that could have carried him 200 miles in the last 40 minutes, and Dean hadn't heard a car pull up outside.

Frowning, Dean crossed the room, collecting his hand gun on the way past. He didn't know who it was on the other side of the door, but he fully intended to give them a piece of his mind for knocking on it at four in the morning and disturbing his brother's rest.

The urge didn't leave him when he opened the door to find Castiel standing outside it, fist raised and brow furrowed as though deciding whether to knock again.

"Dean," the angel said in greeting.

"What the hell?" As disconcerting as it was when he appeared and disappeared without warning, the fact the angel had tracked them down and waited to be invited in made Dean's stomach churn.

That and the expression on Castiel's face.

"How did you..?" They should still have been shielded from view, and Castiel usually called to find out where they were before appearing. Not that he'd done much reaching out in the past 18 months. They'd practically had to beg every time they wanted to get his ass out of heaven.

"Your car is right outside," the angel told him. "And yours is the only room with salt at every entrance. Or a light on."

"Oh."

Castiel didn't volunteer any more information, just rocked on his heels and looked nonchalantly around him, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders and the way he was avoiding eye contact.

"You should maybe not park so close to…"

"Oh, get in here." Dean grabbed the front of the angel's trench coat and dragged him into the room, closing the door and standing in front of it as though that would prevent the other man from getting away. Now that Castiel was suddenly so keen on doors.

"Ok, talk," he growled. Castiel might be trying to help them, but the angel had fallen out of Dean's good graces the moment he'd decided not to tell him there could be something wrong with Sam.

Castiel turned away from him to look for Sam, who was sitting up on the bed, one foot on the floor as though he'd been about to rise. Sam had probably not known who was at the door until Dean had dragged him inside, and even now had his back.

For some reason, that knowledge hurt more than it should have done.

"Sam… I…" Castiel took one step towards the bed and stopped, hands lifted in a placatory gesture.

"'s okay," Sam told him, staring at his own knees.

"How exactly is any of this okay?" Dean asked them incredulously.

"Dean," Sam sighed, and Castiel actually took a step back, the most sensible thing Dean had seen him do given the news he was carrying and the way Dean was feeling.

"No. You're going to tell me what's going on," Dean told Cas sternly. "And none of that cryptic nonsense. As though I'm actually in the room this time."

"I was able to track down the faction that located the weapon. It took great faith on their part to believe it was more than just a myth. It seems there was a monk in the Middle Ages who prayed about a…"

"I'm not needing a history lesson, Cas. Something a little more up to date. Preferable with a happy ending." He folded his arms and shifted his stance. Bobby and Sam would both no doubt kill to hear the full story, but the part that had Castiel knocking at his door with empty hands and a look of sorrowful compassion on his face was the only part Dean needed to hear.

"The weapon has been destroyed," Castiel told them. "It was too… volatile to be used again, despite how effective it might have been. The energy was old, and had possibly been corrupted with its age. Its consequences were unforeseen, and… regrettable."

"And that's it," Dean pressed. "It's just gone. You didn't think maybe we could study…"

"There's no cure."

"You mean you don't know of one," Dean insisted.

"I mean there isn't one."

"You didn't even know this thing existed until a couple hours ago, how can you be so sure that..?"

"I'm sure."

"And this is the less cryptic version," Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then placed it on his hip in an effort to still it when he realised it was trembling.

"It's the condensed version. I'm sorry," Castiel repeated, turning again to face Sam. "Um, is that…?" The angel's eyes flicked back to Dean, and the worry he saw there had Dean spinning towards the bed.

Sam was sitting with his head bowed, and even with the cloth he'd got pinned to his nose Dean could see the drops of blood that were falling onto his knees. Sam lifted his eyes, as though he could tell from the silence that they were both staring at him.

"I got this," he mumbled, free hand raised in a shaky 'okay'. "Feel free to keep yelling."

"Nah, we're done," Dean told him, deflating. The 'why' would come in time, but right now the only important thing was sitting in front of him, so exhausted he could barely keep a hand raised to his own face to stem the flow of blood. Dean crossed to the bathroom to grab a hand towel then perched next to Sam on the bed, tentatively peeling the blood soaked rag from his hands and pressing the towel in place. Sam didn't resist, and while his hand closed over Dean's there was no strength in it and he made no effort to take the towel for himself, just skimmed bloody fingerprints across Dean's knuckles.

"I know that you're…"

"I said we're done," Dean cut across the angel firmly. "I guess there's no point asking if your angel mojo can fix this," he said, hating the way Sam's eyes tracked to Castiel and the glimmer of hope he saw there. Dean had never truly believed like Sam had, and was a lot more aware of heavens limitations since watching his brother swallowed up by Hell. He was somehow irrationally angry that Sam would get to have what remained of his faith shattered again.

"I wish I could. But this is beyond…"

"I figured as much." Dean turned his back to the angel to focus his attention on Sam.

"I'll come back later. See if there's any more I can do."

"Yeah, you do that."

Dean gathered from the slight ripple of air, and the frown in his direction, that the angel was gone.

"'s not his fault," Sam chastised quietly.

Dean shrugged, too tired to argue. Sam had asked that they not assume the worst but experience had taught Dean that there was rarely an alternative, and the only real hope they'd had had just left them empty handed.

Sam's hand slipped from Dean's wrist to his elbow, clinging to the material of his shirt for a few seconds before falling lightly onto his knee, and the weight of Sam's head in Dean's hand increased.

"Sam," Dean called sharply. "You with me?"

A faint squeeze of his knee was his only answer.

"You getting dizzy?"

Sam hummed his confirmation into Dean's palm. Dean lowered his hand further and Sam followed, listing slightly sideways on the bed.

"I think the bleeding's stopped," Dean told him. He discarded the towel he'd been using to stem Sam's nosebleed, swallowing at just how saturated it had become. The last time he'd had Sam's blood on his hands he'd been beating the crap out of him, not willing to believe the thing he'd been living with was really his brother, furious with the creature that had stolen his face. There'd been no blood when Sam had been taken from him, no body draped heavily in his arms. The weight was familiar, holding it was like having something click into place in his soul, something he could barely put in to words but he'd missed it. Had fought so hard to get it back.

He cupped one hand around the back of Sam's neck, rubbed calming circles in clammy skin with his thumb, bit his lip, closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Living with Sam in Hell had been like living with a hollow in his chest, an empty gap inside him that no amount of family picnics and normalcy could fill. He may have lost the life his brother had wanted for him but didn't feel empty any more; he'd just forgotten how much the lump lodged in his chest could hurt.

He hadn't, couldn't, forget how much worse the pain was when it wasn't there. He wasn't going back. He'd risked too much to get Sam's soul and body on the same page again; there was no way Dean was giving him up now.

"Hey, you awake?" He jostled the limp form lightly and was rewarded by a low murmur of affirmation. "Good. I'm gonna lay you back down, okay?" he said, taking the hiccup he received as a yes. "Alright then."

He used Sam's own skewed centre of gravity to guide him, trying to ignore how compliant Sam was to being moved, how his usually so contrary brother was content do nothing but close his eyes and go where Dean put him. He laid Sam out on his side, lowering him backwards so Sam head was at the foot of the bed. When Dean stood Sam just scrunched his eyes closed tighter against the faint rocking of the bed.

If Dean didn't pick Sam's feet up and put them on the bed for him, he doubted his brother would take the initiative.

Sam stirred when he felt Dean's fingers ghosting over the pulse point in neck, shrugging uselessly and muttering something incoherent that Dean wished he didn't know from experience was supposed to mean 'I'm fine'.

"I'm gonna grab some juice, should make you feel a little less spacey. There's a vending machine just down the hall, I won't be a minute. Sam?" he prompted, as though having a reaction would somehow make him feel better about leaving the room.

"'k," Sam exhaled. Dean nodded tightly, knowing that was as good as he could expect.

The night was chilly and the silence outside slightly oppressive. There was a machine on the corner that had Gatorade and caffeine, and the thud of the bottle as it dropped in the machine seemed unnaturally loud. This would tide them over in the short term, and their first aid kid was always ready stocked, but this was going to take more than they already had. He could get Sam settled then put in a call to Bobby, have the other man pick up some supplies on the way in.

With a sigh he headed back to the room.

Sam was exactly where Dean had put him, fingers curled into the bed sheet beneath him the only sign that he had moved. He couldn't face the task of turning Sam around on the bed, but moving the pillow from under Sam's feet and placing it by his head earned Dean a snort and a smile.

"I got it," Sam whispered, and attempted to take the bottle Dean was holding to his lips for himself. The hand that closed around the plastic was shaking, as was the arm Sam was using to leaver himself up enough to drink, but he at least had the awareness to try and do it for himself. Dean crouched at Sam's side and kept the bottle steady while his brother took tentative sips.

"Nuh hum, finish it," he protested when Sam tried to push the bottle away. "I'm going back out for a second to call Bobby, but I want to see this empty when I get back."

Sam nodded faintly and tightened his grip. Dean waited until he was sure his brother wouldn't drop it before heading outside.

When he stepped back in the room the bottle of Gatorade was empty on the floor, its contents spilt and soaking into the carpet, and Sam's bed was empty.

"Sammy," he called out, panic curling in his stomach. He'd taken a moment before re-entering he room to put his game face back on but even so, Sam had been out of his sight for less than ten minutes. He'd had one hand on the motel door the whole time – there was literally nowhere for Sam to go.

"Sammy, you here?"

The sound of retching was his only answer.

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and the light was off, but the sounds coming from within told him Sam was definitely in there.

"Sammy," Dean called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door to advertise his presence.

"Don't… I'm okay." Sam's voice was echoing. Dean peered around the door to find his brother huddled on the bathroom floor, forehead resting on his arms, which were draped over the toilet bowel. He could tell by the way Sam was shaking with exhaustion that being sprawled across the toilet was the only thing keeping Sam even slightly upright.

He pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. Sam tensed, but didn't look up.

"Please," Sam croaked. "Give me a minute. You don't have to…"

Dean would have given in to Sam's request for privacy if his brother hadn't actually whimpered when he broke off to be sick. Instead he crouched down behind Sam on the bathroom floor. Sam flinched away when Dean placed a hand on his back, shaking his head and giving out a small sob of protest that was soon lost to the sound of vomiting.

"'m here, 's okay, I don't care," Dean told him as he rode it out. Dean had to use both hands to brace him as Sam listed, resting his forehead against his brother's straining back and waiting for him to finish.

"Dean…" Sam whined quietly when his stomach had stilled; the distress in his voice made Dean's stomach clench.

"I don't care," he repeated firmly.

He'd seen Sam sick before – from grief, alcohol, or a plain old stomach bug – this wasn't something he hadn't done before. But it was the first time Sam had shied away from him, seemed pained by the idea of his presence.

It was also the first time the cause of his illness was down to the remnants of Azazel's blood in his system. It had been a while, but Dean knew how his brother's head worked, knew it wasn't the shaking and the heaving and the crying Sam was trying to keep from him, but the underlying contamination. Sam's shame over the thing that was inside him, that he tried not to give Dean cause to think about.

Like maybe Dean could pretend Sam was normal if he didn't have to see the proof that said he wasn't.

But it had always been there, in the baby he'd nurtured and the boy he'd loved, the teen he tried to understand and the man Sam had become. He couldn't condemn one without condemning them all.

"I don't care," he said again. He couldn't tell whether Sam had fallen still because he believed him, or because he'd finally passed out.

-0-

Sam was floating. There was fire behind his eyes, blinding hot pain; even with them closed he couldn't escape the burn.

It didn't make sense, given that it was freezing.

His head was full of white noise but he drifted above it. Voices intruded through the haze, too distant to matter, and there was a hand on his face, on his shoulder. The touch was grounding but he shrugged it off to float in the abyss. The pain was less there, the daggers in his stomach and his head still a throbbing hurt but beneath the clouds they would twist and burn.

Shadows darted around the edge of his awareness, raised voices that he shied away from. Hands grabbed him, holding him down. He tried to struggle but they were insistent and they came at him from all sides.

There was a sharp pain in his arm, acid burning, then numbness. The hands left him.

All but one.

Calloused fingers brushed his forehead, drew small soothing circles on his temple and he leaned into them, feeling the touch deepen in return.

He drifted. Warmth spread from the ache in his arm and the pain receded in its wake to a dull roar, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His limbs felt heavy. The light behind his eyes was fading and he was pulled down into nothingness.

-0-

When Sam opened his eyes the light was muted. He blinked a couple of times to bring his vision into focus and realised the reason he couldn't see anything was because he was staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, you with me?"

Dean's face appeared above him, looking anxious and drawn.

Sam squinted against the meagre light shining in through a gap in the curtains. His brain felt fuzzy and slow and his whole body ached.

"Wha..?" he swallowed and tried again but the words couldn't make it out of his dry throat. He tried to leaver himself up on arms that felt like lead, hissing at the sharp pain in his left arm before his strength failed him and he sank back into the bed.

"Easy," Dean warned him, gripping his shoulder while Sam gritted his teeth and the bed wobbled beneath him.

There was an IV in his arm, bag hanging from a coat stand at the side of the bed. He closed his eyes and swallowed, tried to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak but even he didn't understand the croak the left his lips.

He nodded to the tubes and closed his eyes again, raising his arm slightly to show the IV port to his brother, letting his furrowed brow ask the question for him. He was barely able to raise his elbow off the bed and the effort of it left him breathless.

"Fluids and pain meds mostly." The voice came from the foot of the bed and caused Sam to finch in surprise. "Its good stuff, so you might be feeling a little out of it. We put some general antibiotics in there too – figured it was best to cover all bases. How you feeling?"

Bobby was shifting uncomfortably, hovering at the end of the bed. Sam had to strain to see him, gave up when it became clear that Bobby was not going to move and make it easier.

"Crappy," he whispered, too tired to put up a front. The truth would be easy enough to read from the pain lines on his face.

"I'll bet," Dean agreed, playing with the pillows behind Sam's head and propping him up slightly in bed. The movement caused his stomach muscles to twinge in protest but at least he could now take in the room.

"Here, try some of this."

A bottle of water was pushed in front of his face and Sam reached for it greedily. The water was a balm to his throat but as soon as it hit his stomach Sam knew it was a mistake and pushed it away, shaking his head when Dean tried to force the issue, spilling the cool liquid down his front.

Sam leaned forward and breathed deeply, trying to will the nausea away. Dean swore and stepped back when he realised what Sam was doing. Sitting up made his stomach ache and each breath lodged painfully in his chest, the air like knives to his lungs.

He could feel the cough coming, knew how much it was going to hurt, but he could do nothing to hold it at bay. His throat was raw and his stomach muscles burning but once it had started he couldn't stop. His vision went white. He closed his eyes and tried to ride it out. He could feel his brother's hand on his back, taste copper on his tongue, and when it finally stopped he was too exhausted to move.

When he opened his eyes his forehead was on Dean's shoulder and his brother's palm was still on his back; he could hear Dean talking, as though someone had just turned the sound back on.

"You with me now?" Dean asked. Dean's voice was steady, but Sam could hear the heart pounding beneath his ear was anything but calm.

He nodded slightly and Dean lowered him back onto the bed. He sank into the pillows with a sigh, willing his body to relax. Dean's mouth was a tight line and he looked ready to hit something, but Sam took the expression for what it was and let it warm him.

Bobby had moved closer, was gripping the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. He unclenched them when he saw Sam staring and stood taller, but he was unable to meet Sam's gaze, to look at the tears Sam could feel drying on his face.

Dean took a step away from the bed and rubbed a hand across his jaw. Sam closed his eyes again so he didn't have to see the look on his brother's face, hating himself for the act of cowardice. The blood in his veins had been a curse since he was six months old; even now he couldn't get passed it, but Dean was still here in spite of that. Even with Lucifer gone and destiny done with it could still find a way to hurt Dean, and Sam hated himself for that.

He was dizzy again. Dean and Bobby were talking quietly but he didn't strain to catch their words, too tired to even listen. Bobby was even closer now, had come right up next to the bed as though it was safe now Sam's eyes were closed.

He was grateful that the other man had come when Dean had called him. He'd trusted Bobby with Dean when he'd said yes to Lucifer and he trusted him now, knew he'd pull Dean through this. But as grateful as he was that Bobby was there for Dean, it still hurt. Being around Bobby had been as natural as breathing for as long as he could remember. He was used to being a disappointment, to letting people down, but as much as he deserved it that didn't mean Bobby's distance towards him this side of the apocalypse didn't leave a hollow in his chest.

There was a flurry of activity to his left. Bobby muttered something he guessed was supposed to be comforting before fiddling with the IV in his arm. Sam knew he needed the fluids since he couldn't keep water down, but the pull on the port and the burn of the liquid as it met his vein left him feeling even more nauseous.

"I'm gonna step outside, see if I can get in touch with Cas."

"I think that trench-coat wearing imbecile has done enough, don't you?" Bobby grouched bitterly.

"Maybe. But he said he was gonna keep looking and we need anything he can give us right now."

Sam could feel the empty space as Dean moved away from him, heard the motel door open and close. If Castiel was going to find anything he'd have done so by now, but Sam was glad that Dean was reaching out, maybe mending fences. Still, he didn't envy the angel the aftermath of this, just hoped he would give Dean the time to move past his grief and anger before allowing himself to be pushed away.

With Dean gone Sam could feel his shoulders tense, heard Bobby take a breath as though stealing himself now the buffer between them was out of the room. He'd been happily drifting into sleep, he didn't know whether it was the new dose of fluids or the tension in the room, but Sam was starting to feel much more alert.

There was a slight breeze on his face and he heard Bobby scramble to his feet with a curse.

"Dean asks that I…"

"Dean's outside, you ass."

Sam opened his eyes a slit to see Bobby was standing with his hands on his hips, breathing deeply. Castiel was standing in the middle of the room, looking wary.

"He seemed slightly… agitated. His tone was not pleasant. I thought I would be of more use here."

"I'll show you agitated," Bobby promised, taking a step towards the angel. Castiel backed away. "In other words, you're avoiding him. You don't think you can be of use to him? That right now he might be in need of answers?"

"He's not going to like anything I have to say."

Sam's heart quickened.

"Until he knows that, he still has some hope. I would not take that from him until I have to."

"So you left him pacing around the parking lot talking to himself?" Bobby growled.

"It seemed preferable, yes."

"Unbelievable," Bobby exhaled, turning away and moving back towards the bed. Sam could see the tension in Bobby's arms, watched him flex his knuckles.

"You telling me you got nothing?" Bobby asked, voice hoarse. He was leaning his weight against the chair back again and his eyes were closed.

"There's nothing I can do. It's up to Sam now."

"You don't think that boy's already done enough?"

"If I could help him, I would," Castiel promised firmly. "But the thing he was exposed to, it's latched on to whatever remnants of Azazel's blood are still in his system. There's nothing I can do to separate it."

"And this weapon? You just destroyed it?"

"I said I'd…"

"I know what you said, that's not what I'm asking. Because something with energy that big has gotta look mighty pretty for that war you're fighting."

"I can't harness it, and I can't fix it. I've tried to fix it. I'm still trying. But there's nothing I can do. All we can do is hope that the part of Sam that was affected is small enough that he can fight through it. And pray."

"Oh, you'd better pray. Because if that boy dies because of something _your_ kind created, that they couldn't keep control of, then I _swear_ Dean is going to be the _least _of your worries. Do you understand me?" Bobby didn't raise his voice, and was somehow more terrifying for the fact. He'd known Bobby had a temper, knew how things had ended with their father, but despite all he'd done Sam had never actually witnessed it before.

Castiel swallowed. "I didn't know this would happen."

"And that's just part of the problem. For a sheriff, you're doing a pretty shitty job if you can leave a bomb like that lying around without knowing about it."

"It was designed to kill abominations, with the best intentions. There was no way of knowing…"

Castiel broke off when Bobby reached out and grabbed the collar of his trench coat, swinging him around and slamming him into the wardrobe.

Sam had seen it the second Castiel had said something he shouldn't have. Seen the curl in Bobby's fingers and the broadening of his shoulders, knew the stance better than he knew his own. It was clear to him where this was going, even as the angel had carried on regardless.

Sam moved on instinct but Bobby was faster. His fist had connected with the angel's face before Sam's feet were even on the floor. Sam hurled himself forward. There was a tug and a biting pain in his arm but he ignored it when Castiel was hit again. His feet were leaden and his vision hazy. When he grabbed hold of Bobby's arm as it rose to take its third swing, it was as much to keep himself upright as it was to prevent another blow.

Castiel had the power of heaven on his side. Either he'd been taken completely by surprise, or was feeling thoroughly guilty not to have taken Bobby down the second the other man had moved.

Bobby's first instinct was to shake Sam off and keep swinging, only realising what had been holding him back once he'd dislodged Sam and sent him crashing into the wardrobe next to Castiel.

Sam would have kept on going to the floor if the angel hadn't caught him.

Bobby looked stricken.

"Don't touch him," he growled.

"It's not his fault," Sam placated, trying to get his feet to support him so that Castiel could let go before Bobby did something even more stupid.

"I said back the hell off."

"He didn't know Bobby, alright," Sam continued. "We hadn't even spoken to him in days, so it's not like he _sent_ us to that warehouse or anything."

Bobby lowered his fist and took a step back, staggering as though he'd been struck.

"He didn't _put_ me in a room with that thing. He didn't…" Sam broke off as Bobby's eyes widened in horror. His heart sank when he realised exactly what he'd said. "Oh god, Bobby… I didn't…"

Bobby backed away, shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant," Sam pleaded desperately. "You have to believe me. I just… Wait!"

The second Bobby turned away from him and headed for the exit, Sam followed. Adrenalin almost got him half way to the door but his feet weren't cooperating with his brain and his vision was greying out again. Bobby was going to leave and he was so _stupid. _He had to reach him, had to tell him before it was too late, but his knees caved and the floor was rushing upwards and…

Strong arms grabbed him around the biceps and the impact he was bracing for never came. He face planted in flannel and he felt the scratch of whiskers against his cheek. He felt lightheaded, closed his eyes against the ever present nausea, but the arms encircling him were solid and he was pushed backwards until the back of his legs collided with the bed and he was shoved into a sitting position.

His head was pushed down between his knees and there was a rough grip on the back of his neck. The carpet swam back in to view along with the words 'gottcha' and 'breathe now' and 'idjit', and he looked up to find Bobby kneeling in front of him.

Castiel was still standing with his back to the slightly dented wardrobe. He held Sam's gaze for a fraction of a second and nodded, before disappearing from the room.

"Don't leave," he whispered, reaching out and grabbing the other man by the arm, hating how much his hand was shaking.

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" Bobby grumbled, removing Sam's grip and turning his arms over gently. "Look what you've done here," he scolded quietly, "Do you want that brother of yours to kill me?"

Bobby tensed at his own words. He still hadn't looked Sam in the eye.

"Hook me back up again and he never has to know," Sam offered quietly, shifting his arm in Bobby's grasp to bringing the other man back to himself.

He watched Bobby clean away the blood that trailed down his arm. Both of them were shaking. Bobby threw the soiled wipe in the trash, and when he set about reattaching the torn out IV he was perfectly steady.

"You should get back in bed," Bobby told him, not rising from the chair he'd been sitting on while he'd worked on Sam's arm. He was so close to Sam that their knees were touching, but still wouldn't look at him. The tension between them had shifted. Whatever it was that was keeping Bobby's eyes averted wasn't the same thing that had caused him to leave a room every time Sam entered one back at the Salvage Yard.

But that didn't mean Sam didn't still feel it.

"You didn't do this," he attempted quietly. Bobby's emotional reticence put Dean's to shame; Sam had never found it as easy to read him as his brother did.

"Doesn't exactly feel that way right now."

Now that Sam had pointed it out to him – the fact they would never have been in that warehouse in the first place if Bobby hadn't sent them there. The pretence had been weak at first and Sam had always seen it for what it was: an excuse to get them out of the other man's house.

But the tip had paid off and Bobby had followed through on his end, provided all the Intel they'd needed to get the job done. All except the one thing he couldn't possibly have known – that the angels had gotten there first and left a nuke in their wake.

"That's because you're being an idiot right now," Sam told him casually, scooting up the bed and swinging his legs back under the covers. "If you'd arranged for that weapon to be in there, or for the fact I have demon blood in me in the first place, then yes, you'd be due a beat down," he continued as he settled himself against the pillows. "But since you didn't do either of those things I don't think you get to take any of the credit."

"Credit?" Bobby huffed incredulously. Sam just stared at him pointedly until Bobby shook his head and climbed to his feet, but Sam could see the slight smile through the other man's put upon sigh.

"Message received," Bobby said quietly. He'd moved to the other side of the room and was busying himself clearing away the used IV and first aid supplies, but he spared a glance at Sam as though making sure he'd been heard.

"Good," Sam sighed and let himself relax into the bed.

"You know, I said to you once that no matter what, I wasn't ever cutting you out." Bobby's tone was mild but his actions had stilled and his posture was anything but.

"I remember," Sam whispered. Remembered the almost lightheaded feeling of relief.

"Yeah, well. Maybe it took a while, but I do too."

Bobby looked around and held his eye, probably the first time he'd been given real eye contact in this lifetime, and it was almost too much to bear. Sam smiled and nodded, as much to give Bobby permission to pretend the last ten minutes had never happened as to acknowledge what he'd said. Bobby sighed in relief as he finished clearing his things away.

Sam closed his eyes and tried not to give in the urge to grin as he listened to the other man work.

He sat up again when he heard the motel door open. Bobby stepped out of the bathroom - still drying himself on the towel in his hands - to greet Dean as he entered the room. Dean's eyes flicked between the slight pinkish water stain on the towel Bobby was holding and Sam, eyes furrowed in suspicion.

"Everything alright in here?" he asked.

"Peachy," Sam replied innocently.

Dean gave Bobby another narrowed eyed look before shrugging his coat off and moving across the room.

"You talk to Castiel?" Sam asked his brother, ignoring the way he could feel Bobby's eyes narrowing on the back of his head.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Didn't have much more to say, to be honest with you. Said we were already doing the best thing we could by keeping you hydrated while this thing works its way out of your system. I don't know what he's been up to for the last couple of hours or who he talked to, but the guy's obviously been going out of his way to get answers if the state of his face is anything to go by."

"Really?" Sam pursed his lips and nodded, impressed, while Bobby disappeared back into the bathroom muttering something about a pain in his ass.

"What's eating him?" Dean asked quietly, eyeing the closed bathroom door in surprise.

"He's probably just over tired. Too much excitement; at his age it can't be good for him."

Sam flinched when the sound of the bathroom cabinet slamming echoed under the door.

"Someone's feeling better," Dean commented with raised eyebrows and a grin.

"Actually, I think I am," Sam told him, surprised.

"Enough to have another go at having something to drink?" Dean asked him, waving a bottle of Gatorade at him from across the room.

Sam swallowed and looked away. "Maybe not that better," he clarified hastily, trying to push down the memory Gatorade forcing its way back up his oesophagus. "But it's a start," he offered hopefully. He didn't know whether it was the drugs in his system, or having made peace with Bobby, but he was definitely feeling less pathetic than he had even an hour ago.

"Your breathing sounds better," Dean commented. "You still…" he trailed off as he caught sight of the wardrobe and the slight dent in its door. "…bleeding? Was that - ?" He turned to face Sam and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the abused piece of furniture.

"What can I say, the place is a dive."

Dean squinted at him suspiciously then shrugged, obviously deciding to let it go for now. Dean looked exhausted, Sam doubted he'd relaxed for a moment since this whole nightmare had begun. Probably not for long while before that, either. He'd tell Dean what had gone down but he'd save it for later, when Dean could really enjoy it.

Later.

Sam smiled. His whole body ached and he felt about as strong as a kitten, but his insides didn't feel as intensely toxic as they had. The idea of sleep was no longer frightening; in fact, it was starting to seem appealing.

Dean sat down in the chair Bobby had vacated. Sam tried to tell him to get some sleep but his eyes were sinking closed and the words never made it out. He'd try again later; Dean would still be there in a couple of hours when he woke, and Sam found he was more than okay with that.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

Dean woke with a groan, rolling his shoulders and trying to work the kinks out of his neck. It was a testament to how exhausted he'd been that he'd managed to fall asleep at all; he couldn't remember actually managing to get comfortable in one of the chairs in this room and he'd been sitting in them for the better part of a day. He may have been viewing the world from a new vantage point, having dragged the chair across the room so he could read a magazine in peace, but still. Dropping off to sleep in one had not seemed a possibility.

The room was dim, the light source divided between the faint shaft of moonlight shining in from the window, and the glow coming from the TV against the far wall.

It was a long time since he'd woken up to the dull sound of an infomercial in the background, and he only had to glance at the overly cheery man demonstrating his new electric can-opener to know they hadn't got any better. It had been a documentary about ship building last he remembered. The grainy archive footage of Boston docks might have been the anaesthetic he'd needed to over-ride the muscle cramping effects of the chair.

He ran a hand across his eyes to wipe away the remnants of sleep and forced himself to his feet. He glanced over at his bed, shaking his head with a smile. Bobby was leaning against the headboard, head tilted back and baseball cap on his knee, fast asleep. The TV remote was still propped up in his hand.

Dean crossed the room and pulled the remote from Bobby's lax grip. When he flicked off the TV the room was plunged into near darkness. He was tempted to throw a blanket over the sleeping man but Bobby was already stripped down to his shirt sleeves. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen the older hunter wearing so few layers. Sam had turned the heat on when they'd got back from the warehouse and Dean hadn't touched the dial since. He'd already stripped down to his t-shirt by the time Bobby had arrived, and while the other man must have noticed the stifling heat the second he'd stepped in the room he'd had the tact not to mention it.

Dean set the remote on the nightstand and stepped away from the bed, cursing quietly as his bare foot sank into something soft and spongy. He lifted his foot gingerly and the remains of a half eaten muffin slid off his heel and back onto the floor.

"Great," he muttered, hopping slightly in an effort to brush his foot free of crumbs.

He threw a glare at the sleeping form on the other bed. The muffin had been on Sam's lap the last time Dean had looked over, but it had obviously dropped off the side of the bed at some point in the night.

It wasn't the only thing.

Sam had kicked the duvet down to his feet, half of it pooling over onto the floor. He was still wearing his hoody, and when Dean flicked the lamp on low he could see Sam's face was slightly flushed – not by fever so much as the external heat. He was sprawled on his side with his left arm in front of him, draped dramatically across the bed, as though he'd tried to turn over onto his stomach but been prevented by the IV, still providing the fluids his temperamental stomach had rebelled against.

Dean hesitated, unwilling to move away, to tear his eyes away from the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest. Since Death had returned his soul, Sam had been asleep more than he'd been awake. For a time Dean hadn't been sure he would ever open his eyes, but there was no dread or uncertainly in standing here. For the first time since he'd clapped eyes on Sam after the Djinn attack - no, since long before that, since kneeling at Stull - Dean finally began to feel himself relax, to feel as though maybe he was where he was meant to be.

Sam's back was to him. Dean rested his palm flat between his brother's shoulder blades, taking the time to feel Sam's chest expand beneath his hand with each deep breath. There was no crackle or wheeze, no stuttering, straining muscles.

Sam sighed softly and leaned into his touch, uncurling slightly to roll back into Dean, tilting his head to look over his shoulder. Without opening his eyes he issued one sleepy groan of a question.

"'s okay," Dean whispered. "It's just me."

Sam sighed a hum of acceptance and relaxed back into his original position.

Dean didn't move.

Sam huffed softly and dragged himself across the bed, fingers curling in the bed sheet as he pulled himself over.

Dean smiled and sat down in the space Sam had vacated.

"Hold that thought," he whispered, clambering back to his feet and crossing the room to flick off the heating unit. He hadn't noticed the faint hum until it fell silent.

By the time he'd flicked off the lamp and settled himself back on the mattress, Sam was sleeping too deeply to notice his return.

-0-

The next time Dean opened his eyes the room was suffused with the orange glow of morning. He stretched and pulled his face out of the pillow. The scent of bacon hit his nose and his stomach rumbled.

He groaned and flipped over onto his back, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The smell seemed to be coming from a grease stained paper bag on the nightstand by his head.

Dean propped himself up against the bed head and tore into the bag. The bacon sandwich inside was still warm. He'd demolished half of it in two bites before he realised he was alone on the bed.

He looked up to find amused eyes watching him from the other side of the room. Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall directly opposite him, with an affectionate smile on his face.

Dean blushed and took a more sedate bite of his breakfast, pausing to actually chew before swallowing. He'd barely eaten the previous day - Sam hadn't been able to stomach the smell of food and Dean himself had not had much of an appetite.

His stomach roared in anticipation of the next mouthful.

That had obviously changed.

"Where's Bobby?" he asked, noting the silence in the room.

"Town." Sam spoke slowly, as though it was an effort to force out the words. "He wanted to see if there was any news from the warehouse… the missing people…" he trailed off, his eyes slipping closed.

The chair Dean had fallen asleep in that night was sitting two feet to Sam's left.

"Why are you on the floor?" Dean asked him.

Sam opened his eyes and breathed out a short laugh. "Honestly? It was closer."

"Want me to..?" Dean half put down his sandwich with some reluctance and made to rise from the bed, but Sam waved him off with a slightly uncoordinated hand.

"Nah, I'm good here. I've got space." As if to demonstrate his words Sam lowered his knees and extended his long legs in front of him, sighing happily.

Dean shrugged and resumed his breakfast. Sam had been curled up under a dozen blankets for a day; bed was probably the last place he wanted to be and he'd be cramped and uncomfortable in the chair. Dean knew that from experience. Sam probably wanted to feel like he was back in control of his own life, so if he wanted to sit on the floor who was Dean to stop him?

Dean studied his brother while he finished his food. Sam must have been aware of the scrutiny but chose to close his eyes again and bear it in silence.

Sam's hair was slightly damp and curling at the edges, suggesting that he'd recently showered. He was wearing clean clothes too; old baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt that were a step up from sweats, but said he still wasn't feeling up to looking more presentable. He was playing with a half empty take away plastic cup of orange juice in his hands. When Sam raised the straw to his mouth to take a sip he had to use both hands, and that still didn't stop his arms from shaking.

When he lowered it again, Sam sank back into the wall with a sigh of relief.

Definitely not back to full strength then. But he was voluntarily drinking and didn't seem to be worried about keeping it down. In fact, the IV was out of Sam's arm; the plaster covering its site stood out sharply against his pale skin.

"How long have I been asleep?" Dean wondered.

"A while. It's a little after ten."

"You should have woke me."

Sam shook his head. "You needed the sleep."

The door creaked open and Bobby slipped back into the room. Dean squinted against the bright shaft of sunlight that followed the other man in. Bobby gave a flinch of surprise when he saw Dean sitting up in bed.

"The police are out in force in town after a mass of people never made it home the other night, but the warehouse is clear. There's no way of linking the missing people back there."

Dean nodded. Bobby did a double take when he noticed Sam sitting on the floor but Sam just waved in acknowledgement. His eyes flicked over to Dean's face, but when Dean shrugged Bobby shook his head and chose not to say anything, stepping over Sam's legs as he made his way to the other side of the room.

"I figure it wouldn't hurt to clear out anyway," Bobby continued, picking up his bag from the other bed. "We don't want people looking too hard, they might start asking questions."

Dean nodded in understanding. It never paid to stick around after a job, especially given the number of casualties on this one. Sam looked like he was up to being moved. They could maybe grab a room a couple of counties over, rest up for a while until he was sure his brother was up to anything more. Perhaps for a while after that.

"In was thinking we should head back to Sioux Falls. You guys can rest up there for a while," Bobby offered casually. "There's still a lot of ground to cover researching this 'mother of all' business. It's a lot of books to go through, I could probably use Sam's help if we're gonna gain any headway."

"Sure, Bobby," Sam agreed quietly, smiling softly behind the other man's back.

Dean looked up in surprise. Bobby was watching him warily. He may have been extending the olive branch to Sam, but it was Dean he was looking at to take it. Dean's forgiveness he was looking for over the way he'd reacted to Dean's little brother.

Dean nodded and smiled, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "We'll follow you back. Might take us a couple of days to get there."

Bobby nodded. Sam looked at him curiously but didn't object. There'd been no lay-over on the way down here and they usually avoided the expense where they could, but Dean figured they were entitled to splurge. Sam would most likely want to hit the books the moment they arrived, arguing that he was tired not useless, and Dean would be faced with the reality of what they could be up against. The enormity of the task in front of them.

Sam had almost died. Again. They'd gone through too much to get here; Dean wasn't going to take anything for granted. He'd been without Sam for too long, they were going to do things right this time. And if that meant taking a day to just kick back and appreciate what they had, then he would do it.

A year without his brother had given Dean too much time to think. There had been so many things he'd wished he'd done differently. This time there would be no room for regrets.

END


End file.
